Newspaper Page Text
CALHOUN WEEKLY TIMES.
p b. FREEMAN, - - Publisher.
Year $2.00
Months 1.00
I'cn copies one year 15 00
Suoscriptions payable in advance,
a3 d at the expiration of the time paid for,
unless previously renewed, the subscriber’s
uirae will be stricken from our books.
Communications on matters of pub
jj C interest solicited. .
gaitomid Schedule.
tf ESTERN & TLNTIC RAILROD.
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN —OUTWARD.
eave Atlanta 9: 5 A < M
Airive Calhoun 1:17 p. m.
“ Chattanooga 4.25 p. m
DAY PASSENGER TRAIN —INWARD.
teave Chattanooga 4:45 p. m.
Arrive Calhoun 9:09 a. m.
Atlanta 1 1 15 p. m.
NIOIIT PASSENGER TRAIN —OUTWARD.
Leave Atlanta 5:55 p. m.
Arrive Calhoun 9:38 p. m.
ii Chattanooga 12:30 a. m.
NIGHT PASSENGER TRAIN —INWARD.
heave Chattanooga 3:20 p. m.
\rrive Calhoun 6:01 p. m.
Atlanta 9:50 p. m.
ACCOMMODATION TRAIN—OUTWARD.
heave Atlanta 3:50 p. m.
Arrive Calhoun 10:28 p. m.
i. Dalton 11:55 P. M.
ACCOMMODATION TRAIN —INWARD.
heave Da1t0n..... 1:00 A. M.
Arrive Calhoun 3:00 a. m.
.i Atlanta 10:08 a. m
Professional & business Curds.
p J. KIKER & SON,
attorneys at law,
Will practice in all the Courts of the Cher*
fekeeCircuit; Supreme Court oi Georgia, and
Pie United States District Court at Atlanta,
Ga. Office: Sutheast corner of the Court
House, Calhoun, Ga.
n A INAsTmILN E rT~
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
OALIIOUN, GA
Will practice in all the Superior Courts of
of Cherokee Georgia, the Supreme Court of
the State and the United States District and
Circuit Courts, at Atlanta.
AN KIN & NEEL,
ATTORNEYS AT LAW,
CALHOUN, GA.
Office : Court House Street.
J D. TINSLEY,
Watch-Maker & Jeweler,
CAL 0 UN, GA.
All styles of Clocks, Watches and Jewelry
neatly repaired and warranted.
jjjui’E WALDO THORNTON, D. D. S..
DENTIST.
Office over Geo. W. Wells & Co.’s Agricul
tural Warehouse.
•"yvr M. BOSWELL,
PHOTOGRAPHER,
Calhoun, Ga.
1 respectfully call the attention of those
desiring good pictures to the tact that they
cad be supplied at my gallery.
C. A. HUDGINS,
Milliner & Mantua-Maker,
Court House St., CallioiimGa.
Patterns of the latest styles and fashion
for ladies just received. Gutting and
Making done to order.
J H. ARTHUR,
DEALER IN
GENERAL MERCHANDISE,
railroad street,
Calhoun , Ga.
i J. MIDDLETON.
A.
Dealer in
FAMILY GROCERIES,
CALHOUN, GEO.
A superior stock always on hand. . For
cash everything will be sold at amazingly
low figures. Give me a call.
MUSIC! MUSIC!
A large variety of new and select music
direct from Philadelphia; kept constantly on
hand and for sale by Airs. J. E. Parrott.
She also gives notice that she will instruct
in music at her residence. Terms, per month,
$4.00; use of instrument, 50 ennts. Recep
tion days, Tuesdays and Thursdays.
NEW GROCERY STORE.
j. w. Marshall,
Railroad st., old stand of
ai a. w. 3allew.
FRESH GOODS, SOUGHT FOR
CASH, AND WILL BE SOLD
FOR CASH AT THE VERY
LOWEST PRICES.
Would respectfully ask his numerous
friends in Gordon county to come in and
see him before making purchases elsewhere.
fall and Winter Goodsl
MRS. ANNIE HALL
Has now in store her fall and winter stock
nf iashionable Millinery and Straw Goods,
consisting in part of Bonnets, Ladies’ and
C hildren’s Hats, White Goods, Ladies’ Un
derwear, Ribbons, Laces, Flowers, &c , with
au endless variety of
TRIMMINGS OF ALL KINDS.
Putting, fitting and making dresses a spe
eialty. All work done with care, neatness
uuddispatch.• Prices reasonable. Give me
call - MRS. ANNIE HALL.
CUTmay;
y CALHOUN,GA„
p H Prepared to furnish the public with
’J'gg'esand Wagons, bran new and warrant
' ' of all kinds done at short
lc . e ‘ Would call attention to the eele
nLi “hish Brothers’ Wagon which ho fur
dsewlie .^ aU< * e * am * ae before buying
GIN USA liOIIJIIIS,
Get +?’ 4 * 6 Horse Power.
A ,. IC Cheapest and the Best
‘ vl ' lrCßa M. L. GUMP & CO.,
Room ■), Sun Building, N. Y.
€ttll)oim ilkelih) @ttim
VOL. V.
John Parkinson’s Goat.
John Parkinson resided on Thir
teenth street in this city. John is tiie
possessor of a wife, a goat, and a dog,
in addition to his other possessions, and
this triune of treasures brought John
to grief. John became poesessor of the
goat against his will—his wife wanted
it ; she coaxed for it. “John, you
know,’, said she appealingly and affec
tionately, “a goat would save all our
bills. And then if we should find
a little baby, the goat would be so han
dy about the house—goat’s milk’s the
best for babies, you know.”
John Parkinson thus beguiled in an
evil day, as he now thinks, bought a
goat. The dog had been a previous
possession ; how he came by it neither
he or any one else can tell. A fellow,
even if he has a wife, will become the
owner of a dog without being able to
give the reason why, or the time when.
Dogs gravitate toward mischief—with
out, rhyme or reason.
But this is wandering from the sub*
ject, as the cat said when she was loung
ing away from the barn where the mice
were enticingly disporting themselves,
and the subject is the trials and tribu
lations of John Parkfuson.
Late one evening, as the “hand of
time was on the trick of six,” John Par
kinson arrived at his cozy domicil on
Thirteenth street, somewhat fatigued
with the labors of the day, pleased with
the idea that he could have a rest. De
lu c ive idea !
“John dear,” said his wife, in a pur
ring sort of way, as he sat down, “I
wish you would go out and milk the
goat I am so tired, she is out in the back
yard.”
Properly equipped, John started for
the goat, thougn he knew no more about
milking such an animal than he did
about the intentions of Ooggia’s comet.
The dog lay comfortably snoozing on
the back steps, and the door leading to
the kitchen, where his wife w T as busily
engaged, was open. Parkinson remsrn
bered that in his boyhood days he had
heard the milker say to the cow, “So,
bossy, so !” and upon the hint of this
sememberence he acted. He approach
ed the goat with milking utensils in one
hand and the other appealingly sawing
air, “so bossy so.” The goat not being
a “bossy,” didn’t “so” a bit, but kicked
and jumped. Parkinson lost his tem
per and blanked the goat in moderate
terms. The goat jumped and kicked
with greater vigor. Parkinson not to
be outdone, blanked with exceeding fe
rocity and noise. The goat manLested
its indignation at such conduct, and
Parkinson caught up a club and made a
spring at the provoking animal. Mrs.
P. was at work in the kitchen, stooping
over with her back to the open door. —
As Parkinson jumped for the goat with
the club,the goat jumped for the stoop
ing form of Mrs. P. and made against
it with such force that that estimable
woman w r as knocked head first into the
cupboard. Parkinson bounded in fran
tically to save his wife and property,and
as he entered the door the goat turned
and butted him full iti the stomach,
doubling him up like a jack-knife. Just
at this juncture Mrs P. recovered. She
seized Parkinson’s fallen club and made
a lunge at the goat; whack it came
down on poor Parkinson’s head, knock
ing him down. Thump, thump, went
the club. Mrs. P. affecting to believe she
was beating the goat, although all the
time she was pounding poor Parkinson.
The noise of the breaking crockery
awoke the dog,which had been snoozing
on the back porch, and he concluded to
take a hand in the fun. Wildly he
rushed in and seized the first pnoun
nent object that came in the way of his
teeth, which happened to be a tender
portion of Parkinson’s corpus. The
woman kept pounding, the dog growl
ed and tore, Parkinson ripped and
swore, while the soat, which had esca
ped into the back yard, stood looking
on, complacently enjoying the proceed
ings.
This morning Parkinson presents an
interesting sight. His bunged up head
is in bandages, his right arm is in a
sling, and he is badly dog bitten. A
woman with grim solemnity occasionally
baths the wounds. She evidently knows
in her heart thatshe was the cause ot Par
kinson’s trouble, yet her every look and
move seems to say to him, “Serves him
right! You’d no business to try to milk
the goat!” Parkinson mused whether it
is better to get a divorce from his wife,
to kill the goat, give the dog away or to
commit suicide. He reclines on a
lounge, the picture of battered despair,
done up in muslin and strips of adhes
sive plaster.
For two weeks, at least, one form
will be missing from Parkinson’s place
ol business, and hydrophobia may set
in to end poor Parkinson’s ills forever.
—Sacramento Bee.
Love laughs at lexicographers as well
as at locksmiths, and an epistle utterly
wanting in orthography may yet be lull
of the tenderest significance. There is
a dear young creature in Leavenworth.
She may net be beautiful; she may not
be accomplished; she may not be a
form of life and light ; but she knows
the essentials which go to the making
of a first class love letter, as weh as the
next woman, and perhaps betrer. Tor
could the next woman, however lull ot
che thrills and throes and the other
thingamies of*;® 0 ". beat tto short,
sweet letter of the i
“ Dere Jon— comeatafpastate.” Tor .
honor of manhood we trust that. “ Jon,
at Sli. 30. p. in. or a. was promptly
there.— Exchange.
——* r
IMAGINATION r Jes the world.
Easy roadf leads to places..
CALHOUN, GA., WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 2. 1874,
Hollenbaek’s Bull Dog.
Mr. Ilollenback of Sixth street owns
a bull dog about the size of a yearling
calf, and the whole neighborhood has to
walk on its tiptoes and put on a respect
ful look when that dog is turned loose.
The other night Mr. Hollenback was
telling a crowd in a corner grocery
what a prize medal of a dog he had,
and how he could prance over anything
in Detroit, and a young man named
Madden, who owned a fiddle and fi Idles
ti most of the time, said he’d bet mon
ey that he could make the Hollenback
dog quake and tremble under the power
of music. lie said he never saw a dog
which coldn’t be fiddled out of coun
tenance in five minutes by the clock,
and he tried lots of them. Mr. Hol
lenback grinned with delight, and it
was arranged that the goring man
should try it right away. Sladden got
his fiddle ana the crowd went over to
Hollenback’s.
- The dog was called into the kitchen
and the crowd slipped out, one by one,
leaving Madden alone. “Crosseyed
Terror”—such is the animal’s name—
didn’t know what to think of the pro
ceedings, and he sat up and gave Mad
den a look in which border ruffianism,
inquiry, deceit, and astonishment were
about equally mingled. The fiddle was
poised and the young man commenced
fiddling a sad tune, something like
“Mother is Dead.” The dog arose at
the first note and bent an earnest look
on the fiddle. He had probably never
seen a fiddle, and was in doubt as to
whether it was anew kind of a dog or
an infernal machine. As the tune bes
gan to draw longer and longer,
Cross-eyed Terror took a step forward
and gave utterance to a growl which
made things tremble. Madden looked
fixedly at the animal and sawed away
untill it became evident that he hadn’t
better keep that tune much longer, and
he changed off on to something lively.
The young man changed to a chant,
and the dog came a little nearer, and
his under lip fell down like the end
board of a coal cart.
A maD who was looking through the
keyhole of the door remarked that he
wouldrUt be in there for forty million
dollars, and the excited whispers of the
crowd seemed to excite the dog. He
uttered several more growls, and in his
own language inquired “What do you
take me for, anvvray ?” Madden had
faith, and struck up “The Green Shores
of Ireland.” He hadn’t even cited the
“green shores” before Cross-eyed Ter
ror had hold of him by the hip and
gave him a scientific toss. Next mo
ment fiddle and dog and howl and growl
were all mixed up together. Madden
shouted for the crowd to rush in, and
the dog growled out that that was a
private collision, with no admission for
outsiders.
The young man lived about a year
and a half in less than a minute. Tie
went over the stove with a whoop,
around the table with a yell.and felt the
coat tails pull off as he stopped for an
instant to raise the window sash. The
crowd rushed in as soon as they under
stood what was going on. Tuey
Madden lying on his face, and the dog
was trying to get a hold somewhere so
that he could lift him up and adminis
ter the “terrier shake.” They pound
ed the dog with a chair, kicked his ribs
and yelled for him to let go, and final
ly they had to throw a pail of cold
water over him. Mr. Madden could
hardly get up, and when once up he
couldn’t sit down. He had bites all
over him and a few thrown in “to boot,”
and the largest piece of his valuable
was just the size of an Arizona tooth
pick. — Detroit Free Press.
Weddings.
As the semi annual bridal season is
at hand, it is the time to plead fora re
form in weddings. Every year this sa
credest of all occasions is turned more
and more into an opportunity for dis
play, and for replying to some fancied
social obligation. Instead of the time
when a few of theckscst friends gather
to witness the solemnest compact human
beings can frame, it is chosen as the
moment for bringing together the lar
gest part of a family’s social circle, to
show the bride in her bridal garments;
to prove how many flowers and refresh
ments the family can afford ; and with
shame be it said, to exhibit to criti
cism and light comment the precious
tokens that should have come with ten
der regard to the maid on the eve of
her new life.
A bedding must be uncheerful ; but
it must certainly be solemn to all who
realize what it is. On the one side it
is renouncing old ties, promising to be
gin with faith, and hope, and love
anew and wholly untried existence.
On the other, it is the acceptance of a
sacred truth, the covenant to order life
anew in such ways as shall make hap
piness of two instead of one. Can such
an occasion be fitting for revelry ? Is
it not wiser, more delicate, to bid only
the nearest of friends to a ceremony,
and leave the feasting and frolic for a
subsequent time ? We are sure there
are few girls who, if they reflect on the
seriousness of the step they are about
to take, will not choose to make their
yoW merely within the loving limits of
their home circle. All our best instincts
point to the absolute simplicity and
privacy of wedding services; only a
perversion of delicacy could contem
plate the asking of crowds of half sym
pathetic or wholly curious people to at
t ? nd the Gilfillmcnt of the IllOSt solemn
of contracts. J-" 1 tbere as , umch
parly making, rejoicing and pleasure
taking afterwards as hearts desire , out
let the solemn vows be made in th |
presence on y of thos* 1 nearest **n
dearest. — Scribners for October .
• 1 - ' . v
A Big Bet.
The young gentleman—with a medi
um sized, light brown mustache and a
suit of clothes “on accommodating
terms that is on the insecure credit
system —came into a hotel one afternoon
and after calling for a glass of Madei
ra, turned to the company and offered
to bet with any present that the City
of Peking would not be successfully
launched. The “ banter ” not being ta
ken up, he proposed to wager five dob'
lars that Scaunel would not be hung.—
This seemed to be a “ stumper,” too, for
nobody accepted the chance. The ex
quisite glanced around contemptuously
and said :
“ I want to make a bet of some kind ;
I don’t care a fig what it is. I’ll bet
any man from a shilling’s worth of ci
gars to five hundred dollars. Now’s
your time, gentlemen. What do you
rropose ?”
Sipping a glass of beer in one cor*
ner of the bar room sat a plain old gen
tleman, who looked as though he might
be a farmer. He sat down his glass and
addressed the exquisite :
“ Well, Mister, I’m not in the habit of
making bets, but seeing you’re anxious
about it, I don’t cure if I gratify you.
So I’ll bet you a quarter’s worth of six
es that I can pour out a quart of mo
lasses into your hat, and turn it out a
solid lump of candy in two minutes by
the watch.”
“ Done !” said the exquisite, taking
off his hat and handing to the farmer.
It was a real silk hat, a splendid ar
ticle, that shone like satin. The old
gentleman took the hat and requested the
barkeeper to send for a quart of molas
ses.
“ The cheap sort, at ten cents a quart;
that’s the kind I use-in this experi
ment,” said he, handing over a ten-cent
stamp to the barkeeper.
The molasses was brought, and the
old farmer, with a very grave and mys j
terious countenance, poured into the
dandy’s hat, while the exquisite took
out his watch to note the time. Giving
the hat two or three shakes, with a Sig
nor Blitz like adroitness, the experi
menter placed it on the table, and stared
into it, as if watching the wonderful
process of solidification. *
“ Time’s up,” said the dandy.
The old farmer moved the hat.
“ Well, I do believe it ain’t harden
ed,” said he, in a tone expressive of dis
appointment ; I missed it somehow or
other this time, and I suppose I’ve lost
the bet. Barkeeper, let the gentleman
have the cigars and charge ’em in the
bill”
“ What of the cigars !” roared the
exquisite \ “ you’ve spoiled my hat, that
cost me ten dollars, you must pay for
it.”
“ That wasn’t in the bargain,” dryly
answered the old gentleman ; but I’ll
let you keep the molasses, which is a
little more than we agreed for.”
Having drained the tenacious fluid
from his beaver, as best he could, into
a spittoon, the man of the mustache
rushed fiom the place—his fury not
much abated by the sounds of ill sup
pressed laughter which followed his exit.
He made his complaint at the police
office, but, as it appeared that the expe
riment was tried with his own consent,
no damages could be recovered.
The Ring Finger.
We have already noticed the mode
of procedure adopted by bridegrooms in
placing the ring upon the fourth finger
of the left hand. Though it was reach
ed simultaneously with the concluding
“ Amen,” a far weightier reason pre
vailed with many of our forefathers for
selecting this finger to bear the matri
monial token. The finger on which the
ring is to be worn is the fourth finger
of the left hand, next to the little fin
ger; because by the received opinion
of the learned and experienced in rip
ping up and anatomizing men’s bodies,
there is a vein of blood which passeth
from the fourth finger into the heait,
called vena amoris, Love’s vein; and
so the wearing of the ring on that fin
der signifieth that (he love should not
be vain or fained, but that as they did
give hands each to the other, so like
wise they should give hearts also, where
unto that veiu extended.” —“ Swin
burne’s Treatise of Spous ds.” This idea
seems to have arisen in Egypt as early
as the second cenlury. Appian, an Al
exandrian historian, says that, in the
opinion of the anatomists of Egypt, “ a
certain most delicate nerve ” passed
from the ring finger to the heart. But
the staunchest upholder of this theory
w T as Lmvinus Lemnius, a celebrated sage
of Zealand, who lived in the sixteenth
century. In his medical practice he
had often taken advantage of this con
necting artery to restore fainting women
to consciousness. “ The small artery is
stretched from tne heart unto this fin
ger, the motion whereof you may per
ceive evidently in all that effects the
heart in woman, by the touch of your
forefinger. I used to raise such as are
fallen into a swoon by pinching this
joint, and by rubbing the ring of gold
with a little saffron ; for, by this, a re
storing force that is in it passeth to the
heart, and refresheth the fountain ol’
life, unto which this finger is joined.
Wherefore antiquity though fit to com 4
pass it about with gold.” He also states
that this finger was termed “ medicus,”
since, if any veuom entered it, notice
was given to the heart before it was too
late to use an antidote. The gout, also,
never afflicted this finger until the at
tack had assumed a fatal character. —
This he had observed in Gallia Belgica,
the land par excellence of podagral suf
ferers, no Belgian, however long his
experience of gout may have been, ever
suffered in this finger till death was
nigh at hand. — Canadian Monthly.
A Terrible Time of it.
They have anew hired girl over at
Keyser’s farm, just outside our town,
says Max Adder, and on Tuesday, be
fore starting to spend the day with a
friend, Mrs. Keyser instructed the girl
to whitewash the kitchen during her
absence. Upon returning, Mrs. Key
ser found the job completed in a very
satisfactory manner. On Wednesdays
Mrs. Keyser always churns, and last
Wednesday when she was ready she
went out, and finding that Mr. Keyser
had already put the milk into the Churn
she began to turn the handle. This
was at eight o’clock in the morning, and
she turned until ten without, any sigils
of butter appearing. Then she called
iu the hired man and he turned until
dinner time, when he knocked off with
some very offensive language addressed
to that butter which had not yet come
After dinner the hired girl took hold of
the crank and turned it energetically
until two o’clock, when she let go with
the remark which conveyed the impres
sion that she believed the churn to be
haun'ed. Then Mr. Keyser came out
and said he wanted to know what was
the ma'ter with that churn, anyhow.—
It w r as a good enough churn if people
only knew enough to work it. Mr.
Keyser then worked the crank until
half jGast three, when, as the butter had
not come, he surrendered it again to the
hired man because he had an engage
ment in the village. The man ground
the machine to an aecomp miment of
frightful imprecations; then the Key
ser children each took a turn for half
an hour, then Mrs. Keyser tried her
hand, and when sue was exhausted she
again enlistei the hired girl, who said
her prayers while she turned. But the
butter didn’t come. NY hen Keyser
and found the churn still in
motion he blasted his eyes and did some
other innocent swearing, and then he
seized the handle and said he’d make
the butter como if he kicked up an
earthquake in doing it. Mr. Keyser
effected about two hundred revolutions
of the crank a minute, enough to have
made any ordinary butter come from
the ordinary ends of the earth ; and
when the perspiration began to stream
from him and still'the butter didn’t
come, he uttered one wild yell of rage
and disappointment and kicked the
churn over the fence. When Mrs. Key
ser went to pick it up she put her nose
down cPse to the buttermilk and took a
sniff. Then she understood how it was.
The girl had mixed the whitewash in
the churn and left it there. A good,
honest and intelligent servant who
knows how to churn can find a situa
tion at Keyser’s. There is a vacancy
—
The Fate of the Apostles.
All the Apostles were assaulted by
the enemies of their master. They were
called to seal their doctrines, with their
blood, and nobly did they bear their
trial.
Matthew suffered martydom by being
slain with a sword at a distant city of
Ethiopia.
Mark expired at Alexandria after
having been cruelly dragged through
the streets of that city.
Luke was hanged uron an olive tree
in the classic land of Greece.
John was put to a cauldron of boil
ing oil, but escaped death in a miracu
lous manner and was afterward banish
ed to the Isle of Patmos.
Peter was crucified at Rome with his
head downward.
James the Greater was beheaded at
Jerusalem.
James the Less was thrown from a
lofty pinnac.e*of the temple, and then
beaten to death with a fuller’s club.
Phillip was hanged up against a pil
low at H ieropolis, Phrygia.
Barthelomew was flayed alive.
Andrew was bound to the cross
whence he preached to his persecutors
until he died.
Thomas was run through the body
by a lance at Corommadel in the East
Indies.
Jude was shot to death with arrows.
Matthis was first stoned, and then
beheaded.
Barnabas of the Gentiles was stoned
to death by the Jews at Salonica.
Paul,after various tortures and perse
cutions. was at length beheaded at
Rome, by the Emperor Nero.
Curran’s Boyhood.
When a boy, I was one morning play
ing at marbles in the village ball alley
with a light heart and a lighter pocket;
the gibe ani jest went gayly around,
when suddenly there appeared amongst
us a stranger of a remarkable appear
ance. His intrusion was not the least
restraint uoon our merry liule assem
blage; on the contrary, he seemed
pleased and delighted.
I see his fine face at the distance of
half a century, just as he stood before
me in the little ball alley in the days
of mv childhood. His name was Boyce;
he was the rector of Newmarket. To
me he took a particular taney. I was
winning, and full of waggery. Some
sweetmeats easily bribed me home with
him. I learned from poor Boyce my
alphabet and my grammar, and the ru
diments of my elas-ies. He taught
me all he could, and then sent me to
the. school at Middleton, in short he
made a man of me.
I recollect it was about five and twen
ty years afterwards, when I had risen
to some eminence at the bar, and when
I had a seat in Parliament, on my re
turn one day from court I found an old
gentleman seated alone in my drawing
room, his feet familiarly placed on each
side of the marble chimney piece, and
his whole air bespeaking the conscious
ness of one quite at home. He turned
around—it was my friend of the ball
alley. I rushed iDto his arms and burst
into tears.
Words c n lot describe tho scene
which followed.
“ You are right, sir/’ I said to hiui;
“you are right. The chimney piece
is yours. You gave me all I h ive, my
friend; my benefactor 1”
He dined with me, in the evouing I
caught the tears glistening in his fine
blue eyes when he saw poor little Jack,
the creature of his bounty, rising in
the House of Commons to reply to a
llight Honorable.
Home and Happiness.
There can be no doubt that the tru
est happiness is ever to be found at
home. No man without a home can
be long and truly happy. But the do
mestic group can be productive of hap
piness only when it is assimilated by
affection, aud kept in union by discreet
friendship. Then it tends to produce
as much happiness as this world is ca
pable of; and its sweet rdpose is sought
for by all sensible mtih, as ever by the
wisest and the greatest. What can be
compared in onr intercourse of life with
the attentions on our family, with their
exhilarating smiles and undissembled
love? All this raises the gentlest and
most pleasing emotions, and calls forth
all the sentiments of uncontrolled na
ture. What are the raptures of ambi
tion, in comparison with this! Utterly
worthless and insipid. Hence it is
that we see senators and heroes shutting
out the acclamatiens of an applauding
world to partake of the endearments of
family conversation, and to enjoy the
prattling of their little children in their
harmless pleasures. This is one of the
purest sources of mirth. It has influ
ences, too, in amending the heart; for
innocence is communicated by coming
in contact with it; and the sweet sitn
plieity of children tends to purify the
heart from the polution that it hag ac
quired from moving in the world and
mixing with men. Into what an abyss
of moral degradation should not we be
sunken vere it not for women and chil
dren. Well might the GreaL Author
of evangelical philosophy have been do
lighted with the presence of children
and found in them—what he in vain
sought among those who judged them
selves their superiors—goodness and
virtue. Cicero, with all Ins liberality
of mind, felt the tendances of home at
tachment. At one time he acknowledg
ed that he received no satisfaction in
any company but in that of his wife,his
little (laughter, and—to use his lan
guage—“his honied young Cicero.” Sir
Thomas Moor, with his great powers of
mind, devoted a great share of his time
—because he knew it to be his duty
and felt it to be his delight—to the
amusement of his children, Homer in
his Iliad, in the parting interview be
tween Hector and Andromache, has in
terested the heart of the reader in his
terrible hero by showing the amiability
of his Trojan chief, by depicting him,
while standing completely armed for the
battle field, taking off his helmet that he
might not frighten his little boy with
its nodding plumes. How refreshed
are we by this scene of domestic love !
And how pleasant to see the arm which
is shortly to deal death and destruction
among a host of foes employed in caress
ing an infant son with the embraces of
parental love.
— 4 ♦
Courtesy Compensated.
A young editor of a theatrical jour
nal called lately on an actress living in
a third story in the Hue llichelieu.
Leaving her room he descended the
stairway. At the first landing a door
suddenly opened and a black-coated
gentleman stepping suddenly out, ran
against the young man; “Monsieur,
have you half an hour to lose ?”
“For what, sir ?”
“To reader me a service which will
bring you in a trifle of say a hundred
francs.”
“Do you call that losing half an hour ?
What is it you wish ?”
“To serve as a witness to a will. One
witness has failed to come ; the sick
man is dying. Will you serve ?”
The journalist consented, and follow
ing the notary, found himself in a
sumptuous chamber near the bed of the
moribund and seated himself with the
other witnesses. The old man had no
r dative. and made short work with his
will. It was ready for him to sign.
They opened the curtains to give him
light. A ray fell across the journalist’s
face. The sick man saw' him and mo
tioned him to approach.
“Sir,” he said in a feeble voice, “do
you know me?’
“I have not the honor, sir.”
“Do you not recall seeing me at the
Theater Francis?”
“No, sir.”
“I can refresh your memory. Did you
not attend the first representation of
“Fire in a Convent?”
“I was there, certainly.”
“And I, too. You had a good or
chestra stall; Ia miserable stool right
in the doorway. The draft made me
ill You gave me your comfortable seat
and took my poor one.”
“I did but rny duty, sir, toward an
old man and an invalid.”
“Ah ! They are rare —those people
who do their duty. Allow me to give
an evidence of my acknowledgment”
“And turning toward the ear of the
notary, the old man added a codicil to
his will. The witness signed, the notary
countersigned, and the former each no
ted for a hundred francos of legacy, re
tired. The next day the journalist rev s
iied the actress. Coming away, he
rang at the old man’s door, and asked
for him. He had dPd during the
night In due time the young man at
tended his funerel. After it the notary
said to him : —“To-morrow we open tho
will. Be there. You are interested.”
Our editor did not neglect the iuvi-
ADVERTISING RATES.
FBr each square of ten lines or less;
for the first insertion, sl, and for each sub
sequent insertion, fifty cents.
No.Sq’rs j 1 Mo. J 8 Mos, | 6 Mot I 1 year.
Two S-urF $7.00 I $12.00 j $20.00
Four “ 6.00 10.00 | 18.00 35.00
i column 9.00 15.00 I 25.00 40.00
j “ 15.00 25.00 40.00 65.00
1 “ 25.00 _4o*oo \ 65.00 115.00
Ten line§ of solid brevier, br its*
equivalent in space, make a square:
NO. 19.
tation. He attended the reading of thd
will.
The old man had bequeathed him a
hundred thousand fiances.
The orchestra seat was well paid for.
Limit Your Wants.
Lord Bolingbroke, in his •* Reflect
ions upoD Exile,” says: “ Our natural
and real wants are confined to narrow
bounds, while those which fancy aro
confined to none.” Young men who
are just entering upon life, and forming
the habits which are likely to adhere to
them to i's close, will do well to treas
ure in memory these words of one of
England’s finest writers and most phi
losophic B‘atesman : “Our natural and
real wants are confined to uarrow
bounds.” It is surprising how little it
is that is absolutely essential to a man’s
existence, and, if he will take an intelli
gent and considerate view of life, to his
comfort and happiness. Intellectual
enjoyments are comparatively cheap.—
The cultivation of the mind, which af
fords the highest and the only nduring
satisfaction, can be pursued on an in
come quite insignificant for the fetippl y
of luxuries. Our physical wants are
very few, if wo preserve our tastes sim
ple, as they are by nature. To eat, to’
drink, to exercise, to keep warm, and to
be sheltered : a small sum will supply
all these necessities. The pleasures
which are pure, are within the reach of
every one. But the wants which fancy
and custom creates, as Lord Bolingbroke
well sa} T s, are confined to no bounds.—
It is against these that young men oil
the threshold of life should sedulously
guard. Beware of luxuries and expen
sive hab’ts. The gratification of them
may cost you much of the labor and
time which, if given to intellectual cul
tivation, would be fur more conducive
to happiness. It is easy to do without
that which you have never indulged in.
It is hard to leave off habits, however
extravagant and absurd. When you
are to decide about adopting a mode or
style of living, consider well whether it
is certain that,without inconvenience,you
will be able to preserve it. The only
safe rule is to keep your wants with'rf
narrow bounds.
i*- —-
Arhing for a Row.
Asa policeman was leaning againsfe
the walls of the Detroit and Milwaukee
depot, Detroit, he was approached by at
man about thirty years old, whose red
face was a good match fur his hair. He'
was a little “sprung,” and he felt like it
steer turned into a clover field.
“Mister,” said he speaking very con
fidentially to the officer, “I don’t want ter
get locked up, and have my name in the
papers, and be fined, but I am in fronf
lowa, on a little blow out, and I’d give?
a clean ten-dollar note to have a little
scrimmage with somebody.” “You
mean you want to fight?” asked tho
office. “That’s what I mean. I'm just
aching for a row. I want to stand be
fore three good fellows and have softie
one to give me the word to go in. The
officer asked if he was heavy on the'
fight and he answered : “Heavy ? I
should sdy I was ! Why, I am terrible'.
Tin y call me the Russian bear at home,
and the full town stands up or sits down,
just as I say !” The officer said it was
his duty to discourage disorderly con
duct ; but in a case like that, where :i
man had come one hundred and
twenty miles to get up a row, he felt ifr
his duty to extend indirect aid. He
told the Russian bear to go to the coi
ner of Beaubrcn street,enter some saloon .-
talk in a very loud voice, and he \fou'.(l
soon have his hands full. “That’s me ;
much obliged !” exclaimed the man,and
he walked off. In about ten minutes a
boy came running down and said that a
man with a chewed ear, two black eyes
and a broken nose was “up there”in the
ditch. The officer went back with the
boy, and be soon came upon the Russian
bear, who was lying in the gutter, one
leg doubled back, blood ?11 over him',
and his coat ripped in every seam. —*
“That’s you is it ?” asked the officer, aS
he pulled at the man’s arm. “Well did
you find that row?” “Policeman.” re
plied the man, as he regained his feel
and looked at himself, and felt of his
ear, “policeman, don’t you think as if I
did ?”
How Andy Johnson’s Daughter Used te
Knn the White House.
Ex Senator Doolittle says : “ What
ever may be said in criticism of Mr.
Johnson’s public course, all parties
agree that the White House was never
more gracefully kept and presided over
than by his daughter, Mrs. Patterson—
a perfect lady, a model of a republican
mistress of the White House.
“ Let me tell a fact that was never
published, but which I had from the
lady’s own lips. Just as she was about
to leave, at the end of 31 r. Johnson’s
administration, the steward of the bouse
took an inventory, and fouud that not
one article of furniture was missing or
broken ; not a sheet, towel or napkin
was lost ; and the house was in order
from top to bottom. She told me
other faet, which I knew the wives and
daughters of the farmers of W iseonsin
wilfbe glad to hear.
“When they went into the White
House sheparchased two excellent cows/
From the milk of these two cows she
made all the butter, used all the cream,
and made all the ice cream used in tho
President’s family during the term. —*
When she went home she shipped the
cows to Tennessee. Is F any wonder,
ladies, that Mrs. Patterson received the
first premium on butter at their lair la-t
Fall ?”
— <---■
The wife’s secret —Her opinion of
1 her husband.
Pride is precarious, but virtue is in**-
; mortal.